


Bad moon rising

by Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Sterek is my kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Spark!Stiles, always happy ending, sterekmoon, sterekweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27281038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: *Complete*“Okay, but last night wasn’t a full moon,” John points out.“No, it’s in, uh-” Stiles looks to Derek for help.“Tonight.”“Well, shit. Yeah, so it escalates,” Stiles explains. “The druid killed one person last night. They’ll kill two more tonight to finish the ritual. They may already have them.”“How do we stop him?” John asks.“Honestly?” Stiles shrugs. “No idea.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 12
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Head’s up: This is a sickfic and I get with everything going on in the world right now, you might not want to read this kind of fic and that’s totally fine! Please be kind to yourselves! Happy Halloween!

“’lo?”

_“Sorry kid, did I wake you?”_

Rolling onto his back, Stiles stares up at the ceiling, ignoring the dull ache behind his eyes. “It’s fine. What’s up?”

_“Someone called in a body this morning. It looks like some kind of sacrifice-“_

With a long sigh, Stiles sits up, leaning back against the headboard while his dad talks.

“Great,” he mumbles into the phone, once his dad is done. “So, you’re thinking it could be supernatural then?”

_“I think it’s definitely worth checking out.”_

Stiles groans and rolls out of bed. “Yeah, okay. We’ll come take a look.” He disconnects the phone call and drops his cell on the bed. Resisting the temptation to flop back under the covers, he stands slowly moving to gather up a clean change of clothes before heading to the bathroom. He takes his time in the shower—the warm steam helps to loosen some of the congestion that’s beginning to build in his chest, and by the time he’s dressed Stiles is feeling almost human.

He shuffles out to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and rummaging through the medicine cabinet thinking maybe he can dose himself up enough to get through the morning. If he’s lucky, this whole sacrifice thing will just be some twisted, but completely human, occurrence and he’ll be home by midday to sleep off the cold that’s brewing.

Tablets in hand, Stiles sets about making coffee. He’s just finishing up when the front door opens and Derek enters, kicking off his sneakers and dropping his headphones onto the hall table. He wanders over to stand behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around him boyfriend and hooking his chin over his boyfriend’s shoulders

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up yet.” Derek takes the coffee Stiles offers him setting it down on the bench. “It looked like maybe you were coming down with something.”

“Oh, it came down alright.” Stiles leans back into the warm weight and sips his own hot drink. “I’m eighty-percent sure I’m dying right now,” he complains. “But Dad called. He wants us to check out a crime scene.”

“I could probably check it out on my own,” Derek offers once Stiles has filled him in. He backs off to refill his drink bottle. “If magic’s been cast, I’ll probably be able to scent it.”

Stiles slumps forward against the counter. “Yeah, if it’s been cast. But it depends on the ritual. Ugh.” He downs the last of his coffee. “It’ll be easier of we can both get a look at the place. We can rule a lot of things out together.”

“You sure?”

Stiles shrugs. “Yeah, let’s just get this over with.”

They take Derek’s car—it handles the winding, bouncing track out to the crime scene much easier than the Jeep would. It takes about half an hour to arrive and with each bump in the road Stiles regrets his decision to leave his bed. By the time they spot the flashing red and blue lights of the police cars through the trees, the pounding behind his eyes is back with a vengeance.

Sheriff John Stilinski stands beside his cruiser as the Toyota pulls up. He turns to wave at his boys as they walk over, his mouth twisting down once he gets a good look at Stiles. 

“Jesus kid, you look like death warmed over.” John tucks his notepad into his pocket. “You should have said something.”

“Thanks Dad,” Stiles drawls. “Good to see you too.” He stifles a cough in his elbow, ignoring the looks from Derek and his father.

“Stiles-“

“It’s fine,” Stiles promises, waving them both off. “Just a cold. Look, the sooner we do this, the sooner I can go home.”

Sighing, John leads the way over to the crime scene. “The body was called in just after six am by a jogger-“

The acrid scent of magic hangs heavy in the air and Stiles groans at the sight before him. He recognises two of the symbols carved into the tree, the others… he’s not sure. He goes to take a step forward for a better look but is stopped by Derek’s low growl. Turning, Stiles realises that Derek can’t get any closer, blocked by an invisible wall.

“Mountain ash.”

Stiles crouches and brushes his fingers through the short grass. The barrier falls allowing Derek to pass.

“Well this is just awesome.” Stiles straightens too quickly-- his vision going grey and spotty for a second before clearing. “There was definitely magic involved, but I don’t recognise these symbols.” He steps away from the tree to take a couple of photos with his phone. “I guess I’ll go give Deaton a call,” he says, patting away Derek’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll meet you guys back at the car.”

*

Stiles is sitting in the passenger seat of the car when Derek and his father return. He massages his temples, trying to will away the headache hammering behind his eyes.

He jerks up at the metallic squeal of the door opening, fumbling with his phone.

“I really hate talking to Deaton,” he complains. “It’s hard enough to get a straight answer from him normally. I don’t understand his need to explain things in the most convoluted ways.”

“Did you get anything?” Derek asks, leaning against the door.

“I explained the symbols and I’m thinking druid. Deaton said something about the energies of a blue moon…” Stiles trails off at his Dad’s confused expression.

“It’s when there are two full moons in the same month,” Derek supplies. “The second one’s called a blue moon.”

Stiles nods along. “Anyway, it’s something to do with gaining power.”

“Okay, but last night wasn’t a full moon,” John points out.

“No, it’s in, uh-” Stiles looks to Derek for help.

“Tonight.”

“Well, shit. Yeah, so it escalates,” Stiles explains. “The druid killed one person last night. They’ll kill two more tonight to finish the ritual. They may already have their next victims.”

“How do we stop him?” John asks, his mouth set in a frown.

“Honestly?” Stiles shrugs. “No idea. I think we need to get the pack together and Dad-” He breaks off, the tickle in his throat bursting out in a long coughing fit. “-Can you check and see if anyone’s been reported missing in the last few days?” he croaks when he’s done.

“In the meantime, I’m taking Stiles home,” Derek cuts in. “It’s going to take a few hours to organise everyone and figure out how to stop the druid.” He turns to Stiles. “You should probably get some rest while we wait.”

“I knew there was I reason I loved you,” Stiles says grinning. “I’ll start calling the pack.” He’s reaching for the seatbelt when the phone in his hands starts ringing.

“Scott? Wait, slow down. What?” His eyes go wide. “When? _Shit_. Okay. Where are you? Stay there okay, we’re on our way.” Stiles ends the call and turns to his Dad. “Melissa didn’t come home last night.”

John pales. “You think the druid has her?”

“Given the timing, I think it’s too big of a coincidence. _Ugh._ ” Tipping his head back against the seat he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I guess that’s a raincheck on naptime.”

His dad gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “I think you’ve got bigger problems,” he says, looking back to the crime scene. “I’ve got some things to finish up here,” John says. “Keep me updated. Let me know when you find her.”

“Will do.”

Derek climbs in behind the steering wheel and they head straight to Scott’s place.

“Mom worked yesterday.” Scott explains, pacing the living room once they arrive. “She was supposed to be home last night, but she didn’t, she-“

Kira stands, resting a hand on his arm and Scott looks across at her gratefully. After taking a breath, he continues.

“I called the hospital this morning. I thought maybe she picked up another shift. She wasn’t there though. And they said she didn’t turn up for her shift yesterday either. That’s not like her.”

“We’ll find her.” Stiles is quick to reassure his friend. “Hey, we will. We always do.”

It’s still early, almost ten am, which means they still have the whole day to find Melissa. Knowing one of the druid’s victims will make it easier to find all of them. With a personal belonging, Stiles can use a spell to track Melissa’s location.

“Okay,” he says, starting to form a plan in his head. “Scotty, you go talk to Deaton. He tends to open up to you more than he does the rest of us. Show him the photos I took and get as much information as you can— I want to know what each symbol means.” He swings his leg against the coffee table, tapping out a staccato rhythm as he thinks. “We’ll get the rest of the pack together at our place in a couple of hours and head out before it gets dark.”

With the very beginnings of the plan set into motion, Scott and Kira leave to talk to the veterinarian and Derek drives Stiles home.

As soon as he walks through the front door, Stiles starts pulling books off the shelves and spends the rest of the morning reclined on the couch, up to his eyeballs in research.

Derek disappears into the kitchen around midday, returning ten minutes later with a sandwich.

“You should eat something,” he says, placing a plate down on the coffee table, pushing aside the books and papers spread out across the surface.

“I’m not hungry,” Stiles mumbles. He puts down his notebook and rubs at his eyes. His head aches, everything aches, and he wants nothing more than to curl into a ball and sleep for the next week, but with a druid running around sacrificing people for power, sleep will have to wait.

“I know.” Derek hands over a glass of water and two small white tablets. “But you haven’t eaten anything today— coffee doesn’t count as food. You need to eat.”

Stiles eyes the medication, coughing into his sleeve. “Can’t you just use your werewolf pain-sucky magic?” He makes a grabby motion, but Derek shakes his head and places the pills in his palm.

“My ‘werewolf pain-sucky magic’ won’t help your fever,” he points out. “Or that cough.”

Stiles takes the medication with a resigned sigh, swallowing down the pills and grimacing as the water hits his rolling stomach. Once the feeling subsides, he holds out his hands for the plate.

Derek hands over the sandwich and watches Stiles take a few tentative bites. Satisfied, he goes and collects his own lunch before returning to the living room.

“I don’t like this,” Derek says, breaking the silence. He sits down on the couch next to Stiles, lifting his boyfriend’s feet to make room and dropping them in his lap. “Surely there’s someone else who can do this?”

“Who?” Stiles croaks. “None of the ‘wolves can activate the tracking spell. I don’t-” He breaks off to cough into his elbow. “Deaton won’t help us unless it benefits him directly. Dad’s busy trying to keep the rest of the department distracted while we go tramping across the crime scene.” He raises the sandwich halfway to his mouth then seems to change his mind, setting the plate back down on the table. “Melissa is _missing_. If we don’t do this, if _I_ don’t do this tonight, we might never get her back.”

“I still don’t like it,” Derek grumbles. “It’s dangerous enough without you being sick.”

“I’ll be fine big guy.” Stiles slips a foot out of Derek’s lap to nudge him in the thigh. “I’ll be in and out in the blink of an eye and once the druid turns up, I’m more than happy to leave the fighting up to the werewolves. We’ve got a plan— it’s going to work out.”

Two hours later most of the pack are sitting around the coffee table, while Derek goes over that same plan.

“Are we sure this is going to work?” Scott asks, his face is drawn with worry. Melissa has been missing for almost twenty-four hours and everyone can feel Scott’s fear creeping down the pack bonds—and an unsettled Alpha makes rest of the pack restless.

“Stiles is the best at last minute plans,” Kira says, glancing over at Stiles as she speaks.

“Yeah, but Stiles looks like shit.” Malia is as blunt as ever, sitting with her feet hanging over the arm of the chair. “What?” She shrugs when Stiles complains. “You reek of sweat and sickness. You have magic, can’t you just heal yourself?”

“My magic doesn’t work like that.” Stiles reminds her. “I can sense other people’s magic, do a couple of spells, but healing is beyond what I can do.”

“We can’t put this off any longer,” Derek continues, bringing them back to the plan. “We need Stiles to find Melissa, but then it’s up to us.” He looks to each of the ‘weres in the room. “You all know what you need to do?” Six heads nod back at him. “Okay, we head out in an hour.”

*

It’s cold.

Fucking freezing.

Intellectually Stiles knows it’s not that bad and that his fever is probably just making it seem worse than it really is. That doesn’t stop Stiles from cursing and shivering in his jacket. He presses in closer to Derek’s side, more thankful than ever that werewolves run hot.

It’s not even that late. The sun has only just disappeared behind the trees and little kids across Beacon Hills are probably out trick-or-treating innocently oblivious to the danger that is lurking in the preserve. Stiles can’t remember if he turned the lights off at the house. He hopes no one comes knocking on their door.

It’s a crappy way to spend Halloween. Stiles could be eating candy re-watching _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ and trying to convince Derek to answer the door in his beta shift. 

He forces his focus back to the task at hand. Moonrise is only moments away. Closing his eyes, Stiles re-activates the spell that is leading them to Melissa and the other victim. Focusing on the pull, he walks with Derek, listening hard for the rest of the pack—they’ve melted into the trees ready and watching in case they run into the druid. He clears his throat and resists the urge to cough. His eyes are watering and he can feel a tickle deep in his chest and he does his best to ignore it.

Beside him, Derek tenses.

Stiles looks up at him.

“Moonrise,” Derek explains softly, his eyes glowing golden.

They break into a run.

“They should be right up ahead,” Stiles pants, pointing through the trees. Derek shifts fully, snarling and snapping his jaws. He crashes through the undergrowth, followed closely by Malia and Erica who have materialised from the darkness.

They’re gone by the time Stiles reaches the clearing, but he can still hear them, growling and snarling as they chase the druid.

“Stiles!” Kira is standing off to Stiles’ left with Scott and Boyd. Behind her is Melissa and… Chris Argent?

“We can’t get to them.” Kira gestures to the dark ash the ground.

Stiles pulls his jacket closer around himself, turning towards her.

“Okay.” He casts a glance back towards the direction Derek had gone. “I’m coming.” He jogs over towards the tree, his breath burning in his chest, and kicks his foot through the line of mountain ash.

Scott and Boyd rush in to free Melissa and Chris. They make quick work of the knotted rope and soon they’re ready to go.

Stiles stands to the side, covering his mouth to cough harshly into his sleeve. He wants nothing more than to get Derek and go home.

“Mama McCall.” Stiles’ voice grates in his throat. “Good to have you back.”

Melissa has one arm flung around her son’s waist, and she wraps the other around Stiles. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s some sort of card I can get stamped each time I’m kidnapped.” Her tone is light, but there’s a tremble to it she can’t hide.

“Next one’s free,” Stiles jokes, letting Scott lead them back towards the cars.

Derek is waiting there in his wolf form when they get back. Stiles pulls away from Melissa to go to his wolf, tangling his fingers in Derek’s fur.

There’s a spare change of clothes in the car. Stiles reluctantly lets go of Derek and follows him around the car so the wolf can shift back into his human form.

“You’re okay? What happened?” he asks, scanning Derek for any sign of injury.

“I’m okay.” Derek says. He opens the front passenger door and pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “But the druid got away.”

Stiles lets Derek tug him in to scent him. “We were able to stop the sacrifice. Maybe he’ll leave.” The words are mumbled into Derek’s bare chest. “Let’s go home. We can sort this out tomorrow.

They’d driven two cars out to the preserve, so they split back into them.

Scott and Kira volunteer to take Chris and Melissa home and Malia goes with them. Derek offers Erica and Boyd a lift before climbing in on the driver’s side. Stiles hops up beside him cranking the heater.

He stares out the window as they drive. The glass is cool against his forehead as the Toyota winds along the bumpy road back to town and Derek’s hand is a comforting presence on Stiles’ thigh— vibrating.

“Oh!” Stiles sits up quickly, ignoring Erica’s giggle from the backseat. The vibration comes again from his pocket. Stiles digs out his phone and answers the call. “Hey Dad.”

_“Stiles, how’d it go?”_

“We didn’t catch him, but we were able to rescue Melissa and Chris Argent. We’re on our way home.” Stiles rests his head back against the window.

_“Do you think he’ll be back?”_

“I don’t know,” Stiles says honestly. “I hope not.”

John sighs down the line. “Well, the important thing is everyone’s okay. We can sort the rest out later. Get some rest Stiles. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The line disconnects and Stiles lets his hand drop to his lap. Outside the window, the brightly lit houses with their Halloween decorations blur together.

*

“Wha-?” Stiles stirs when Derek shakes his shoulder gently. He squints against the lights of the residential complex. “We’re back?”

Erica and Boyd are gone. Stiles hadn’t even noticed the brief pit stop to drop them home.

Derek nods, stepping aside so Stiles can climb down from the car. It’s only a short walk up the path to their house, but it feels endless, so Stile just focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until he makes it to the front porch.

He leans against Derek while the werewolf unlocks the door and turns on the lights. The living room is a mess, but that is a problem for future-Stiles. He ignores it in favour of walking straight through to the bedroom.

“Do you want first shower?”

Stiles shakes his head; he’s been longing for this moment all day. “Jus’ want to sleep.”

He sits on the bed and kicks off his shoes. He can hear Derek moving around in the bathroom as he shrugs off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor. His jeans are the last to go, falling in a heap on top of the rest of his discarded clothing. Stiles contemplates pulling on a pair of sweatpants but walking to the closet just seems like too much effort, so he settles for crawling under the covers in his shirt and boxers.

A few minutes later, the bed dips and a warm body climbs in beside him. Stiles rolls towards Derek, tucking himself up against his werewolf hot water bottle before drifting off.

Derek doesn’t sleep very well that night.

Stiles kicks him awake twice, mumbling and coughing in his sleep. Wrapping an arm around his partner, Derek pulls Stiles in close, hoping to stifle some of the movement.

Snaking his hand up under Stiles’ shirt, Derek splays his fingers across the bare skin of his stomach. It feels warmer than normal, but Derek doesn’t have much experience with human illnesses. He doesn’t think it’s too bad.

Stiles rolls over, mashing his face into Derek’s collarbone. The werewolf cards his fingers though his sick boyfriend’s hair and tries to fall back to sleep.

He gives up some time around five am.

Stiles stopped mumbling at some point during the night, but his temperature has gone up and he’s throwing off enough heat that even Derek feels sticky and uncomfortable lying beside him.

He pushes away the sheets and rises from the bed. Stepping into the kitchen, Derek takes a long drink of water then goes and rummages around in one of the cupboards. He finds an old packet of paracetamol that somehow isn’t expired and inspects the back of the package to check it can be taken on an empty stomach. Before returning to the bedroom Derek refills his glass with water.

Stiles doesn’t even stir when Derek sits on the edge of the bed and switches on the lamp on the nightstand. Setting down the glass, Derek reaches for Stiles’ shoulder, waking him gently.

The younger man groans, one arm coming up to smack away the hand trying to wake him.

“Le’ me sleep,” he whines, curling in on himself.

“You can go back to sleep in a minute,” Derek promises. “I need you to take these first.” He presses the meds into Stiles’ hand.

The younger man glares blearily at the clock on the table and then at the tablets in his hands. “Der, it’s the asscrack of dawn,” he complains, voice rasping. “This could have waited.”

“You’re running hotter than I am right now,” Derek points out patiently. “Trust me. Take these now, you’ll feel better when you wake up later.”

Stiles groans again with the effort of sitting up. He sits back against the headboard, reaching out to take the glass Derek hands him and swallows the pills. “Can I go back to sleep now? Wait. Where are you going?” He asks when Derek stands.

“I spent the night lying beside the human equivalent of a space heater.” Derek twists to look back towards the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t go.” Stiles makes grabby hands towards his boyfriend until Derek reluctantly climbs back onto the bed.

“You’re so gross,” the werewolf grumbles, running his fingers through Stiles’ sweaty locks.

Stiles snuggles into his chest. “You love me.”

Derek rumbles his agreement, wrapping his arms around Stiles despite the clammy heat coming off him. He manages to doze for another hour and when he wakes Stiles does feels cooler.

The sky outside their window is beginning to lighten, so Derek carefully untangles himself from his human-octopus boyfriend and gets up to fetch a pair of running shorts. He contemplates showering quickly before changing—he _is_ feeling pretty grimy after sleeping beside Stiles. Making up his mind, he ducks into the bathroom.

At the end of his morning jog, Derek detours through town to stop at the pharmacy. He picks up some more medicine for Stiles as well as a thermometer. They’ve never needed one before, but Derek has spent the last twenty-four hours guessing Stiles’ temperature based on comparing it to his own. He knows that werewolves generally run two to three degrees warmer than a human and based on that Stiles had had a pretty high fever that morning, but it would be useful to know exactly what his temperature was.

He’s expecting Stiles to still be asleep when he gets home, but when he pushes open the front door Stiles is sprawled across the couch in the living room, wrapped up in a blanket. His laptop’s sitting open on his knees and Stiles is staring blearily at the screen.

“What are you doing?” Derek moves Stiles’ legs, so he can sit on the couch, then lets the human drop his feet into his lap.

Stiles coughs into his elbow and slumps further into the cushions. “That druid is still out there,” he says. “We bought some time last night, but this isn’t over.”

“We’ve got another month before the next full moon,” Derek points out. “A regular full moon. There won’t be another blue moon until-“

“August,” Stiles supplies. “2023, but-“

“That’s two years away.” Derek cuts back in. “Take a break. Just a couple of days until you feel better. You’re allowed to take a sick day Stiles.”

“The bad guys _don’t_ take sick days Derek,” Stiles argues. “Besides-“ he’s cut off by another cough. “The ritual was for gaining power. Why? What’s the druid planning on doing with this power? How much does he have already? Maybe he doesn’t need to finish the ritual!”

“Let someone else figure that out.” Derek reaches across to shut the laptop. “I’ll call Deaton again; he might have some ideas. Lydia will be back in a couple of days; she can help too. You’re not the only one who knows how to do research.”

“Yeah, but I do it the best,” Stiles grumbles but he lets Derek take away his computer.

“I know you do,” Derek agrees. “But you can do it later.” He places the laptop down on the coffee table. “I’m going to make some breakfast. It’s still early, why don’t you go back to bed for a bit? I’ll bring you something to drink.”

“Nah, I think I’m just going to stay here.” Stiles tugs the blanket closer around his body. “We could watch a movie.”

Derek passes over the remote for the television before heading to the kitchen. He potters around, taking his time with breakfast.

When he finally returns to the loungeroom, Stiles is fast asleep on the couch. Derek lets his hand brush against Stiles’ forehead. He’s feeling a bit warm again, but his fever is nowhere near as high as it had been when he’d woken that morning, so Derek lets him sleep.

It’s a Sunday morning, and they’ve both got the day off. Derek had been planning on heading into the garage for a bit to work on his car, but he doesn’t trust Stiles not to get sucked into another research binge if he leaves him alone. Instead, he goes to take a proper shower and throws their sheets into the washing machine before remaking the bed. He spends the rest of the morning quietly tidying the house while Stiles sleeps before returning to the kitchen to make some lunch.

Derek digs around in the freeze, finding some leftover soup—soup is supposed to be good for colds. He sticks the container in the microwave to heat while he makes himself a sandwich. He’s mindful of the fact that Stiles probably won’t be very hungry, still, he needs to eat so Derek carries their lunch out to the living room and places it on the coffee table. It feels like Stiles’ temperature is back up, so Derek ducks back to the kitchen for his paper bag of pharmacy supplies.

“’m not hungry,” is the first thing Stiles says when he spots the food.

“I know,” Derek replies, “but the pharmacist said you shouldn’t take these with an empty stomach.” He’s got the new box of cold and flu tablets in one hand and the thermometer in the other.

Stiles sits up gingerly, clearing his throat of the congestion building back up. His chest aches from coughing all morning and he’s desperately trying to avoid setting it back off. He pulls his legs up, crossing them to make room for Derek to sit beside him and watches the werewolf fidget with the thermometer.

“Here.” He holds out his hand to take it. It’s digital and turns on at the press of a button. Stiles sticks it in his mouth under his tongue and waits for the beep. When it comes, Stiles doesn’t even look at it, just hands the thing back over and lets Derek frown over the blinking number.

“What’s the damage?” He asks as he accepts the bowl of soup that had been cooling on the table.

“I think you have the flu,” Derek responds.

“Pretty sure I could have told you that.” Stiles huffs fondly. He would roll his eyes if his head didn’t hurt so bad. He lifts his spoon to eat, pausing after a few small mouthfuls when his stomach begins to churn unpleasantly. When he’s feeling confident his lunch is going to stay put, he takes the offered medicine, but he can’t bring himself to eat any more after that.

Derek starts his own lunch once he realises Stiles isn’t going finish his soup. He flicks on the TV, starting up a new episode of the TV show he’s been watching.

“Oh, yeah, I like this one.” Stiles shuffles around on the couch so that he’s half draped over Derek as the title credits begin to play. He lies like that for a few minutes when suddenly he scrambles out from under the blanket to rush towards the hallway.

The sound of retching hits Derek’s ears a moment later. He follows the sound towards the bathroom.

Inside Stiles sits, slumped on the floor, his head tipped back to rest against the cool porcelain tiles that line the bathroom wall.

“Feeling any better?” Derek asks as he moves to crouch beside his boyfriend.

Stiles goes to nod but then he’s reaching for the toilet again, shoulders heaving. They sit there on the floor together for a few minutes afterwards. Stiles is afraid that if he moves it’ll start up again.

“You think you could drink something?”

Stiles shakes his head carefully.

“Just a little bit, you need to stay hydrated.”

“You’ve been googling,” Stiles manages to say without setting off another round of vomiting.

He hears Derek’s low chuckle and the rustle of clothing as the werewolf gets up from the floor, followed by the sound of footsteps receding. Derek’s back soon enough and there’s a damp wash cloth being pressed into his hands.

Stiles runs the towel over his face and down his neck, it’s a welcome relief against his burning skin.

Taking the towel back, Derek swaps it for a glass of water. Stiles takes a tentative sip to wash his mouth out, but any more than that makes is stomach roll again, so he set the glass down on the tiles.

“I think I’m going to go back to bed,” he mumbles, standing slowly with one hand braced against wall. Once upright, he lets Derek steer him towards the bedroom and climbs into the fresh sheets.

“Roll over,” Derek says. “Facing the window.”

Brows creasing with confusion, Stiles rolls over.

A warm, calloused hand comes to rest at the base of his neck, kneading small circles into his skin. It drags up into his hair and Stiles feels the tension in his back and shoulders melting away along with the pounding in his head.

“You mojo’d me.” The words are almost lost in the pillow. “Thanks Der.”

Derek lets Stiles sleep and heads out to find a large bowl or bucket— just in case. By the time he returns, Stiles has already thrown the covers off and is lying sprawled in the middle of the bed. His skin still feels so hot to the touch and Derek realises that he’d probably thrown up before the pills had really had a chance to work. He’s not sure if he can give Stiles more medicine so soon and debates whether he should call Melissa to ask.

In the end he chooses the middle ground and sends a text. The reply comes through a few minutes later.

**_Melissa McCall (13:09PM):_ ** _How long after taking the medication was he sick?_

He’s not sure, but it hadn’t been long.

**_Derek (13:09PM):_ ** _Maybe 20 minutes?_

**_Melissa McCall (13:10PM):_ ** _What’s his temp now?_

Derek returns to the living room to retrieve the thermometer. He’s reluctant to wake Stiles again, but does it anyway, ignoring the grumble in favour of getting a temperature reading.

**_Derek (13:14PM):_ ** _102.1_

**_Melissa McCall (13:16PM):_ ** _Just make sure he keeps drinking water and let him rest. You can try again in a few hours. Text me if his temp goes over 103._

“You’re like a mother hen,” Stiles mumbles, blinking up at Derek. “I’ll be fine. Us fragile humans get sick all the time.”

“You’ve never been sick in the two years we’ve been dating,” Derek points out, setting down his phone. “And werewolves don’t get sick. I have no frame of reference for this.”

“You had humans in your pack.”

“I never had to take care of any of them. I was sixteen remember.” The memories are easier to talk about with the distance of time. “Anyway, Melissa said you need to stay hydrated. I’ll get you some water.”

Stiles nods wearily and but doesn’t sit up.

Derek returns with a glass, setting it down beside the bed.

“You good?”

The concern in Derek’s voice is endearing and Stiles finds himself smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Stiles spends most of it sleeping, occasionally woken by either Derek trying to get him to drink, or the cough that rattles in his chest. His temperature hovers around 102 for the rest of the evening, not going any higher, but not coming down much either.

Around dinner time, Derek gets another text from Melissa asking how Stiles is doing. Stiles has migrated back to the couch and is curled up under a blanket. He steals Derek’s phone to reply to Melissa that he’s fine and Derek is being a worrywart and ignores the dinner Derek has placed in front of him.

“Do you need to call in sick for tomorrow?” Derek asks.

“No work tomorrow.” Stiles puts the phone down. “And I can afford to miss a day of classes. I was going to give Scott a lift in though—I’ll text him later.”

Nodding, Derek queues up another movie and they watch TV until Stiles falls asleep on the couch. Derek wakes him just before nine pm for one last dose of medicine and sends him to bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wakes up feeling like crap.

At some point during the night his cough ramped up and the ache in his chest has turned sharp. It seems no matter what position he lies in, he can’t get comfortable, so he tosses and turns until Derek pulls Stiles in against his chest and holds him still.

Exhaustion finally beats out discomfort sometime in the early hours of the morning.

He vaguely registers Derek getting up for the day, drifting in that soft space between wakefulness and sleep until he feels the press of lips against his forehead.

“I need to go open the garage.” Derek’s sitting beside him on the bed. “Will you be okay for an hour?” He waits for a response, when he doesn’t get it, he frowns and shakes his head. “Never mind, Brendan has a set of keys,” he says, naming one of his mechanics. “I’ll give him a call.”

Stiles squints up at him, finally processing the conversation.

“It’s fine Der.” His voice is little more than a rasping whisper. “’m just going to sleep in anyway.”

Derek stands. “One of the perks of owning the place,” he says, echoing the words often teased by Stiles. “You sleep, I’ll be out in the kitchen if you need me.”

It only takes him a minute to explain what’s going on and arrange for someone else to open the shop. Derek’s just finished his call and switched on the coffee maker when the familiar jangle of Stiles’ phone echoes through the kitchen. Checking the caller ID, Derek wonders if John knows he’s listed on Stiles’ phone as _Such father. Very Sheriff. Wow!_

“John?”

_“Derek? Hey, is Stiles there?”_

“Uh,” Derek glances back towards the bedroom. “He’s still asleep.”

_“Oh. Look, we just got a call in about someone acting suspicious out by the preserve, near Knott’s Creek. I don’t know for sure, but I’m wondering if maybe it’s the druid from last night. Mel told me you guys ran him off?”_

Lips pulling tight in a frown, Derek pulls out one of the stools by the kitchen counter and sits. “Yeah, we lost him though.” He leans forward so that he’s got an elbow propped on the bench.

_“I was going to head over to take a look.”_

“No.” Derek straightens in his seat. “Don’t go on your own. It could be dangerous.”

_“That’s why I called. I could pick you guys up on my way through.”_

Derek’s torn between wanting to go help protect the territory and staying to protect Stiles. With a sigh he says, “Uh, do you think you could call in one of the others to help with this one?” He’s already mentally cataloguing which of the other betas are free for the day.

“ _I suppose I could call Scott. Why? What’s wrong?”_

“Stiles isn’t feeing very well.”

 _“Still?”_ Surprise colours the Sheriff’s tone.

“I think it’s the flu?” Derek says. “I’m not sure. It’s not something I have a lot of experience with.”

 _“I’m sure he’s fine”_ John’s voice is reassuring over the phone _. “Stiles never got sick often as a kid and he tends to be a bit… dramatic about it.”_

Derek laughs. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

_“Okay, I’ll give Scott a call then and we’ll take a look around. Call me if you need anything, alright son?”_

“I will. You be careful too, sir. Let me know if you find anything.”

After disconnecting the call, Derek calls Deaton. He’d promised Stiles he would yesterday and had forgotten. After the call goes through to voicemail, he sends Scott a text.

**_Stiles (08:13AM):_ ** _Have you heard from Deaton lately?_

**_Scottyboy (08:15AM)_ ** _not since the day b4 yesterday I think he got called out to deal with something in next county???_

**_Scottyboy (08:15AM):_ ** _heyy what time r u picking me up?_

Stiles must have forgotten to text Scott last night. Derek scrolls up the message thread to confirm that Stiles’ last message to his best friend had been the previous morning.

Before he can clear up the confusion the phone beeps again.

**_Scottyboy (08:17AM):_ ** _Hey Mr S just called me gonna meet him at Knotts Creek. Said ur sick. Still?_

**_Stiles (08:22AM):_ ** _Yeah, Stiles is asleep right now. Let me know what you find._

**_Scottyboy (08:22AM):_ ** _Yeh kk._

Derek puts Stiles’ phone down and finishes making his breakfast. It’s hard to sit around waiting for news from Scott or the Sheriff. He knows Scott’s more than capable of protecting them. He’s come such a long way as an Alpha, building trust within the pack and making it strong. Even with half the pack off at college the bonds connecting them are stronger than ever.

Derek can hear Stiles coughing from the bedroom and decides to go check on him. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since the night before, so Derek throws some bread in the toaster and spreads it with a generous amount Nutella when it’s ready. He finishes making himself a coffee and makes tea for Stiles, carefully carrying everything down the hall.

Stiles is awake when Derek enters their bedroom, his arm flung across his eyes to block out the light filtering through the window.

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks, setting everything down on the night stand.

“Shit,” Stiles croaks, breaking off to cough wetly into his arm.

“Half an hour ago you were telling me you were fine,” Derek points out, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, well I’m a lying liar who lies.” Stiles’ free hand comes up to rub at his chest. “What’s up?”

Derek decides not to tell Stiles about his dad’s phone call, not wanting him to worry. “I brought you something to drink,” he says instead, handing over the mug of tea.

“Thanks.” Stiles takes the mug but doesn’t drink from it.

“First-” Derek picks up the thermometer.

Stiles sits up, rolling his eyes. “Yes mom.” The sarcasm is spoiled by more harsh coughing.

“Maybe I should go back to the pharmacy.” Derek picks up the packaging for the cold and flu medicine to read over the back of it. “Get you something for the cough.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles grumbles around the thermometer. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

The thermometer beeps and Derek’s relieved to see Stiles’ temperature has finally started to come down.

“See. Immune system of steel.” Stiles pushes back the blankets. “Ugh, I need a shower.” He climbs wearily to his feet, swaying slightly as he gets fully upright.

“How about you eat something,” Derek suggests, patting the bed to encourage Stiles to sit back down. “And then maybe a bath.”

They finish their breakfast in bed, after which Derek goes and runs the bath. Clean and dressed in a fresh pair of sweats, Stiles camps out on the couch, his energy drained from the one task.

The rest of Derek’s morning drags along at a snail’s pace. He fills his time calling Lydia and catching her up on what’s been happening.

By twelve pm he still hasn’t heard from either Scott or the Sheriff and he’s beginning to worry. He’s left several voice and text messages on both phones, but there’s been no reply and despite the pack bonds feeling normal, there’s a sense of foreboding that’s weighing Derek down.

To top it all off, Stiles’ temperature goes up again, sitting around 103 and refusing to come down. He’s dozes fitfully, coughing himself awake periodically.

Derek doesn’t know what to do, so he calls Melissa.

“John and Scott have gone after the druid and I haven’t heard from them since this morning,” he tells her when she finally answers. He’s hiding out in the bedroom to avoid waking Stiles. “I can’t leave Stiles alone, he’s really sick and nothing seems to be helping.”

 _“Oh, sweetheart.”_ Melissa always manages to sound calm despite the situation— despite the fact Derek just told her that her son might be missing. _“What can I do?”_

“I- I don’t want to leave Stiles, do you think you could-”

_“Of course, I’m on my way.”_

Derek calls Kira, she’s already suspected something was wrong. She’s been unable to contact Scott since the Sheriff picked him up. He calls Erica and Boyd next – Erica’s at work, but Boyd’s free. He tells Derek he’ll pick up Malia on the way.

They all agree to meet at Knott’s Creek in half an hour. That gives Derek enough time to wait for Melissa. She pulls into the driveway ten minutes after Derek calls her and he’s out the door the moment she arrives.

Derek doesn’t bother with his own car. He and Stiles live on a fairly quiet street, houses on one side, trees on the other. Derek ducks across the road into the trees, drawing on his werewolf speed without shifting. He needs to keep his clothes and phone on him in case Scott or the Sheriff try to call.

It takes him twenty minutes to run to the meeting point. By the time he gets there, Malia and Boyd are already waiting, but Kira is yet to arrive. While they wait, Derek checks his phone to confirm he hasn’t received any more messages since he left the house. Shoving the device back into his pocket, he starts scenting the area for any trace of Scott and John.

By the time the Kira arrives, Derek’s located the Sheriff’s cruiser parked a few hundred metres up the dirt road. There are no signs of a fight, no signs of a struggle, no signs of anything just the lingering scent of pack.

Derek focuses in on the trail. His tracking skills are good, but Malia’s are better. He turns to his cousin. “Which way?” He asks.

Malia is already trotting off into the trees. “This way.”

Derek’s phone chirps in his pocket. He pulls it out quickly to check the message.

_Taking Stiles to dr. Call me when you find them._

“Everything okay?” Boyd is watching him, face neutral, his keen senses picking up on Derek’s distress.

Derek stamps down the urge to turn tail and run to his partner.

Find the Sheriff first. Find Scott. Derek will be back with Stiles soon.

“Yeah. Fine,” he says and follows the others into the woods.

*

It doesn’t take long to find the Sheriff.

He’s tied to a tree, bruised and a little scratched up, but otherwise unharmed. There’s a rune carved into the bark and mountain ash circling the base. None of them can break the barrier to get to him.

“It was the druid,” John curses, tugging at his bonds in frustration. “He was after Scott this whole time. Kept going on that he couldn’t believe he’d found a True Alpha.”

“Where’d they go?” Malia asks.

John gestures with a jerk of his head. “That way, but it was hours ago.”

“We’d have felt it… if something had happened to him, right?” Kira asks Derek.

Derek tests the pack bonds. He can still feel his connection to Scott burning brightly in his mind. “Scott’s okay, but we need to find him.” He turns back to the Sheriff. “We’ve got about four hours of daylight left, and we need to get you free. We don’t know what that rune does, and I really don’t want to find out.”

“Okay so we need someone who can break the mountain ash barrier.” John wiggles in his bonds, reaching out his boot towards the line. “I’ve been trying but I can’t quite reach it.”

“We should call Stiles,” Malia suggests. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Scott said he wasn’t feeling well,” Kira supplies. “That’s why he came out to help the Sheriff.”

“Okay, but he could come out here now,” Malia argues. “All he has to do is break the barrier. It’s not that hard.”

Derek shakes his head. “Melissa said she was taking him to the doctor. I could give them a call, but I’d rather not get them involved.”

“Who else are we going to get?” Kira asks. “We need a spark to break the barrier.”

“Technically,” Boyd points out. “We only need a human to break it.”

Kira sighs. “Yeah, well we’re a bit short on both right now.”

Derek ignores the conversation between the pack and turns to the Sheriff. John has paled beneath his tan.

“What is it?”

“It’s just something that the druid said.” John makes another futile attempt to escape from his bonds.

Derek steps up as close as the mountain ash will let him. “What did he say?”

“I dunno, something about the Alpha’s spark,” John says. “I thought he was still talking about Scott and all that True Alpha crap. What if he was talking about Stiles?”

The rest of the pack falls silent.

“You don’t think he could go after Stiles next?”

Derek is tugging his phone from his pocket before Kira even finishes her sentence. He dials Melissa, thinking she is more likely to pick up the phone.

_“Derek? Hey, how’d it go?”_

Not wanting to waste time with pleasantries, Derek asks, “Is Stiles there?”

 _“Yeah, he’s here. What’s wrong? Did you find-”_ Melissa’s voice cuts off and Derek hears the background noise of a curtain rattling closed. _“Did you find them?”_

“Melissa, I’m sorry.” This is not the conversation Derek wanted to have with her and he desperately wished he was bringing her better news. “We haven’t found Scott yet. John’s here but we can’t get to him. We can’t get past the mountain ash.”

_“Oh.”_

That one word is enough to make Derek’s heart clench with guilt.

“John thinks the druid could be after Stiles as well.” He hopes Melissa can forgive him for putting Stiles first. “Something he said. He- Are you back at home yet? There are protections built into the house, so you should be fine if you stay there.”

There’s a pause before Melissa speaks again.

 _“Derek, we’re at the ER. Stiles is getting IV fluids while the doctor waits for his blood test results._ ”

“Wait, what? I thought it was the flu?”

_“It’s looking like pneumonia. We’re just waiting for some tests.”_

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, tamping down the panic that’s threatening to spill over.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” He puts the phone on speaker so Melissa can hear him too. “I’m going to call Chris Argent and see if we can get him out here to free John. Malia, Kira and Boyd, you will wait and work with him to track down Scott. I’ll head over to meet Melissa and Stiles. If the druid is going after Stiles, someone needs to be there to protect him.” The pack nods. “Okay, Mel, I’ll see you soon.”

*

Melissa disconnects the call and ducks back into the small cubicle.

“Who was it? Was that my dad?” Stiles asks. His sweat soaked hair is plastered to his forehead, and he looks so much younger than his twenty-two years.

Walking back over, Melissa sits on the edge of the bed. “It was Derek.”

“Something’s wrong. Dad and Scott-“

“They’re fine.”

The head of the bed has been raised so that Stiles is sitting upright. Melissa fixes the scratchy thin blanket that’s been draped across his legs. “Derek and the others are with him now.”

Stiles scowls. “You’re lying.” He shrugs away from her touch like a cranky child when she moves to brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Sweetheart-”

“No,” he croaks. “Mel, I heard Derek on the phone. Before you came over— he’s been lying to me all day. You need to tell me what happened.” He starts coughing, hacking up the thick gunk his lungs are producing.

Melissa grabs him a tissue to spit into. “Stiles, your dad is fine. The pack is with him.”

“And Scott?”

Melissa falters. “The druid has him.”

“What?” Stiles starts moving to get off the bed. “Melissa, we need to go. I can find him, bring him back.”

“Stiles, no.” She stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “We think the druid is after you too.”

“Good,” Stiles tells her. “That’ll make it easy to find him then.”

“You’re sick Stiles. I know it’s hard, but you need to rest, and you need to let the pack handle this.”

“You can’t ask me to do that Mel. You don’t understand-“

“Don’t I?” Melissa asks. She steps back from the bed. “That bastard has my son.”

“I’m sorry. I-” Stiles starts to apologise, but Melissa won’t let him finish.

“I won’t let him take my other one. I’m not going to let you risk yourself unnecessarily. _You_ can’t ask _me_ to do that Stiles. You’re not the only one who has a stake in this. You’re not the only one stuck out on the sidelines right now.”

“But I can do something.” The words are soft, almost hidden in the harsh rasp of his breath, and Melissa let’s go of all her anger with her next breath. She knows he’s hurting. She’s hurting too.

“Stiles.” She sits back on the bed. “You could barely stand when I brought you in here.”

“I’m feeling better.”

Melissa is struck again by how young he sounds. She forgets sometimes that after all they’ve dealt with— after all the hunters and the chimeras, the dread doctors and the nogitsune, Stiles and the rest of pack are still barely adults. They’re not teenagers anymore, but twenty-two is still a baby in her eyes. Even Derek, the oldest at twenty-seven, is too young to have the safety of Beacon Hills resting on his shoulders.

“You are now,” Melissa reminds him. “But when the medicine wears off you won’t feel so good. Look,” she goes for a compromise. “Derek’s on his way over and the doctor should be back soon. At least wait and see if you can go home and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“Fine.” Stiles slumps back on the bed. “I hate this.”

“Yeah, me too.”

*

Derek recognises the nurse on the front desk in the hospital’s waiting room. She lets him through into the ER and from there it’s easy enough to follow the steady rhythm of Stiles’ heartbeat to the correct curtained off bay.

“I’m not going to admit you,” the doctor is telling Stiles as Derek draws back the curtain. “Oral antibiotics and rest should clear this up.”

Stiles nods, his gaze flicking across to Derek.

“And try and stay hydrated this time around.” The doctor waits until he has Stiles’ attention again before adding, “You might not feel like it, but you need to keep drinking water, or you’ll end back up in here.”

Melissa thanks him, having worked with the doctor before and takes the prescription. Once the doctor’s gone she removes the tape from the back of Stiles’ hand, then directs him to hold cotton wool over the IV site before she expertly withdraws the cannula.

Stiles looks away, face scrunched up until Melissa sticks down a bandaid and declares him good to go.

Derek hands Stiles his shoes and sits beside him on the bed while Stiles slowly tugs them on. He is looking much better than he had earlier when Derek had left to find the Sheriff, but he’s still pale against baby blue hospital blanket.

“Is my dad okay?”

Derek nods. “I just got a text from Argent; he’s got John free. They’re heading back to your dad’s place.”

Stiles nods, his expression set in a frown. “You lied to me.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Derek tells him. “If I told you what was happening, you would have demanded that I let you come.”

Stiles stands, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoody.

“I am capable of making decisions based on my own limitations.” He conveniently doesn’t mention his earlier argument with Melissa, but she doesn’t pull him up on it. “I’m very well aware that I’d be no good in a fight right now. But you didn’t even give me that choice. Instead you left me completely in the dark.”

“I’m sorry, I thought it was for the best.” Derek follows Stiles back out to the waiting room and sits with him while Melissa brings her car around.

“Well it sucked.” Stiles coughs harshly into his sleeve earning dirty looks from the people sitting around him. “This sucks,” he complains. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this sick in my life.”

“You’re human.” Derek shrugs. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

Stiles doesn’t immediately respond, his attention solely focused on the bandaid on the back of his hand.

“Stiles?”

“I’m never this sick.” Looking up suddenly, eyes wide, Stiles asks: “We’re going back to our place, yeah?”

Derek’s brow knits in confusion. “Don’t you want to go see your dad?”

“In a bit.” Stiles picks absently at the bandaid. “There’s something I need to do first.”

Melissa had driven Stiles to the hospital, and Derek had arrived on foot, so after stopping at a pharmacy to fill Stiles’ prescription, she gives them a lift back to their house.

As soon as they’re home, Stiles storms into the house, slamming the front door behind him.

Derek thanks Melissa hastily before chasing after Stiles.

“What on earth are you doing?” He marches into the house, following Stiles through to the master bedroom. “You need to rest.”

Stiles begins tugging at the bedding, pulling the quilt and then the sheets into a heap on the floor. The pillows are next – thrown with a surprising strength, one takes out a photo frame, another hits Derek in the gut.

“Seriously Stiles. This is insane.” Derek catches the next pillow that sails his way. It’s path of flight suggests Stiles had been aiming at his head. 

“What’s insane is that you think you can lie to me and get away with it.” Stiles is already struggling to catch his breath. He’s stripped the bed right back to the bare mattress and is trying to lift it free from the base. He straightens suddenly and turns to Derek, one hand resting on his straining diaphragm. “Are you going to help me or not?” He demands.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Derek doesn’t move from the doorway.

“Fine.” Stiles half sags against the bed while he catches his breath, then gets his fingers under the mattress and tugs, pulling it high enough to see underneath. “Where the fuck is it?”

He barks out a cough and lets the mattress drop.

“This is the most likely place…” He’s muttering to himself, eyes searching the room. He sits on the floor and yanks the quilt towards himself, fingers going to the fasteners holding the cover closed.

“I just washed those!” Derek is completely bewildered by his boyfriend’s behaviour.

“Was there anything inside?”

“No?” Derek watches Stiles drop the quilt. “What are you looking for?”

Stiles scrubs both hands over his face. “It has to be here.”

Derek picks his way carefully across the bedroom to sit on the bed. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Please tell me what’s going on. I’m worried about you.”

Stiles lets his head tip back to rest on the bed. “I never get sick Derek.”

“I know.” Derek tangles his fingers in Stiles’ hair, without its usual product it’s soft and fluffy.

“Never. And even if I do, it’s just like, the sniffles.”

“Okay?” Derek’s still not sure where he’s going with this.

“You don’t think it’s just a tiny bit suspicious?” Stiles cranes his next to look at Derek. “That on the morning my dad finds a ritually murdered body I happen to wake up with pneumonia?”

“I mean,” Derek chooses his words carefully. “I think maybe you had the flu and then staying out all night running through the forest probably made it worse. You think… someone did this to you?”

“It makes sense!” The tickle in his throat becomes unbearable and Stiles coughs up more mucus. “Don’t look at me like that,” he tells Derek. “It makes so much sense. If this druid wanted me out of the way he could have totally done something.”

“The house is warded.”

Stiles shrugs. “Doesn’t mean its impenetrable. Wards lose their power and need to be redone. If the druid is stronger than me, he could totally get in and I wouldn’t even notice.”

“If he was that much stronger than you why would he need to do something to you?”

“Ugh, I don’t know. It…” Stiles looks around at the mess he’s made of their bedroom. “I thought it made sense. But… I don’t like this. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Why don’t you lie down for a bit?” Derek suggests. “You can call your dad and we can come up with a plan to find Scott.”

“No.” Stiles shakes his head. “I’ve got to find it. I’m not going to get better until we find it.”

Derek decides the only way he’s going to get Stiles to rest is to work with him, so he says; “Why don’t you tell me what we’re looking for. I can search for it while you get some sleep.”

“I’m not 100% sure.” Stiles admits. “I think we’re looking for a hex bag. It could be in a cloth bag or tied up. It might have something of mine or something that I’ve used. It would be— would be somewhere we go often, like in the bed… or under it. Um, the couch, the kitchen? It could be anywhere.”

“Okay,” Derek nods. “You think you can stand for a minute?”

Stiles squints up at him, brow wrinkling in confusion.

“So I can remake the bed,” Derek explains. “You can lie down while I look.”

“If you find it, you have to burn it.”

“I will.”

Derek remakes the bed, and as soon as Stiles is sitting, he crouches to peer underneath. There are a couple of storage tubs filled with old clothes and winter blankets which he carefully pulls out and rummages through but there’s nothing in there that remotely matches the description Stiles gave him.

He heads out to the lounge room and pulls the cushions from the couch. He doesn’t find anything there so he moves on to the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers and fumbling around under the sink.

Returning to the living room empty-handed, Derek walks back over to the couch and sits, hands braced against his knees.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the scents around him. Stiles said the object might have something of his in it, but there’s no point focusing on that— the whole house is drenched in Stiles. The usual musky scent holds a bitter tang of sickness and Derek pushes it aside, focusing instead on anything that feels unfamiliar.

When his senses fail to pick up anything unusual, Derek calls Lydia.

“If you were to hide a hex bag in my house, where would you put it?”

“Are you kidding me Derek?” Her tone is sharp over the phone. “That’s it — I’m coming home. Tonight.”

Derek glances at his phone screen— it’s only just three pm. He can’t believe it’s only been a few hours since he went off in search of Scott and the Sheriff. Doing the math in his head, Derek calculates that if Lydia leaves for the airport immediately, she’ll be back in Beacon Hills sometime around eleven pm. It’ll likely be too late to help them tonight, but Derek can admit that it would be good to have her back for whatever the morning brings.

“Do you really think there’s a hex bag in your house?” Lydia asks seriously.

“I couldn’t find anything,” Derek admits. “But Stiles is certainly convinced. He thinks it’s making him sick.”

There’s a moment of silence before Lydia asks, “Where is he now?”

“Asleep, in our room.”

There’s a sharp draw of breath. “Derek, if there really is a hex bag and Stiles is the focus, you need to get him out of the house.”

“What?” Derek is on his feet moving towards the bedroom. “He didn’t say anything!”

“The more distance you put between him and it, the less power it holds over him. At least until we can find it and burn it.”

“Okay, I’ll take him to his dad’s place. Let me know how you go with flights.”

“Keep him safe Derek.”

“I will.”

Once he hangs up Derek goes to their bedroom. He throws some clothes into a bag and collects their toothbrushes and Stiles’ new medication. He’s not sure how long this is going to take but he wants to avoid having to travel back and forth between both houses.

Once he’s put the bags in the car, he goes to wake Stiles.

“What’s wrong? Wha’ happened?” Stiles is all sleep-rumpled and not at all happy to be awake.

“We’re going to go see your dad,” Derek explains, looking for Stiles’ discarded shoes.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Not long.” Derek waits for Stiles to finished getting dressed. “About half an hour.”

“Did you find it?”

“Not yet. You should have told me you couldn’t be here.” Derek bundles Stiles up and carries him bridal style to the car.

“I can walk,” Stiles complains, but Derek doesn’t put him down and Stiles doesn’t make him.

When they pull up at the Sheriff’s place, there are already three other cars in the driveway. Stiles shuffles inside, zeroing in on his dad in the kitchen.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine Stiles,” John reassures his son, folding him into a hug. He’s standing by the kitchen table with Chris Argent and Boyd, looking over a map of Beacon Hills. “What are you doing here?”

“House is cursed,” Stiles explains. He pulls out one of the dining chairs and slumps into it. “But we can’t find it so we’re here to help find Scott.”

“What do you mean cursed?” Kira asks, poking her head through the doorway. Erica and Malia follow her into the kitchen.

“Stiles thinks a hex bag is making him sick.” Derek comes to stand beside the Sheriff. “I couldn’t find anything but didn’t see the harm in coming over. According to Lydia, if there _is_ a hex bag, the further Stiles is from it, the better he’ll feel.”

“And I can help.” Stiles insists.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Melissa says walking over to the table.

“But I can find Scott,” Stiles points out. “I can do the tracking spell and lead you to him.”

“It’s too risky,” John says, siding with Melissa.

“Maybe you could direct us over the phone?” Derek suggests. “If you do the tracking spell for Scott, you know what direction he’s in, right?”

Stiles nods, not sure where Derek is going with this.

“So, what if you did a tracking spell for me as well? Could you tell if I was moving in the same direction?”

“That sounds needlessly complicated,” Melissa says, sitting down at the table between Stiles and his dad.

“And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to hold both tracking spells at the same time,” Stiles admits. 

“What are our other options?” John asks, turning to Derek. “Can’t you track him by scent? That’s how you found me.”

Boyd shakes his head. “We tried.”

“I think this druid wanted us to find you.” Derek explains. “You were a distraction so that he could get away with Scott. We were able to track your scent but there was no trace of Scott.”

“So really,” Stiles points out. “I’m your only option.”

“What about Lydia?” Malia asks. “She’s coming back soon, isn’t she?”

“I spoke to her before I came over,” Derek says. “Hopefully she’s about to get a plane, but she won’t be here until later tonight.”

“We don’t have time to wait around.” Stiles protests. “We need to do something now.”

“He’s right.” Chris looks up from the map he’s been studying. “Scott’s been missing for hours. Our window for finding him is closing.”

“Let me try tracking Scott,” Stiles asks, insistent. “If I can get a good enough read on him maybe we won’t need the second tracker.” He turns to Melissa and Kira. “I don’t suppose either of you have anything of Scott’s on you?”

They both shake their heads.

“I can go home and grab something,” Melissa offers, pushing her chair back to stand.

“Okay.” Stiles nods. “It’s best if it’s something he’s touched or worn in the last day or so.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Argent says. “I’ll come with you.”

“Me too.” Kira follows Melissa to the front door. “We’ll be back soon.”

Once they’re gone, Derek gathers the rest of the pack together in the dining room to come up with a plan once they find Scott.

Stiles stays where he is at the table. His chest is still aching. He watches Derek pace around the room talking to the pack, his head pillowed on folded arms.

“You sure you’re up for this?” John asks. He takes Melissa’s vacated chair beside his son, concern etched on his face.

“I have to be.” Stiles lifts his head to look at his dad. “I’m not going to sit around and do nothing when Scott’s in danger.”

“Why don’t you move to the couch while we wait? It’ll be more comfortable.”

Nodding, Stiles lurches to his feet and walks slowly to the couch. His dad brings him a blanket and he half dozes while they wait for Melissa, Kira and Chris to return.

“They’re back.”

Derek wakes Stiles with a gentle shake and he startles, coughing.

“What have you got?” He croaks, rubbing his sternum.

Melissa holds up a t-shirt.

“That’ll work.” Stiles props himself on the couch. “Can someone bring me the map?” John brings it over and lays it flat on the coffee table. “Bring it a bit closer?” Stiles asks. He draws up his legs, crossing them, so that his dad can push the coffee table right up against the couch.

Stiles looks around at the expectant faces. Chris, Melissa and his dad stand opposite him, watching Stiles closely— the rest of the pack are perched around the room. Behind him, Derek leans against the back of the couch.

Melissa passes over the t-shirt and Stiles murmurs the words to activate the spell. Closing his eyes, he focuses on the tug that will lead him to Scott.

After a moment he opens his eyes and stares down at the map. “Where are we on here?”

Chris bends over the map, pointing out the street.

“Does someone have a pen? Can you mark where the house is?”

His dad passes a pen across to Chris to mark out their address. Using the small x drawn on the paper, Stiles turns the map so that it’s oriented the same way he is sitting then closes his eyes to focus on the spell once more.

“Scott’s that way.” He raises an arm and points, before opening his eyes.

“That’s north east,” Chris says, studying the map carefully.

Melissa crowds in close to the coffee table. “What’s out that way?” She asks.

“Most of Beacon Hills.” John frowns, his expression drawn.

“Can you work out distance?” Chris asks.

Stiles shakes his head. “I can feel when I’m getting close,” he explains. “It’s like a game of hot or cold but if I’m not moving it’s not going to feel any different.”

“What’s your range?” Chris asks. “Could you track someone on the other side of the state?”

“You don’t really think-” John starts.

“No, but if we know how far away someone has to be before Stiles can no longer track them it gives a sense of the scale of the search.”

Stiles grimaces. “I don’t really know what the range of the spell is. A couple of miles, maybe? We’ve never really tested it out before.”

“So, he could be anywhere?”

Stiles shrugs. “He can’t be that far away. I don’t have the energy I normally would. Even if I did, I don’t think I’d be able to track him if he was outside Beacon Hills.”

“What about Derek’s suggestion?” John asks. “If you tracked him too could you tell if he was getting close to Scott?”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” Stiles replies honestly. “I could try it.” He twists in his seat to look at Derek. “Give me something of yours.”

Without a word Derek strips off his shirt. Erica wolf whistles while John and Melissa both make a choking noise that makes Stiles laugh, which makes him cough.

“A little warning, big guy,” he says, patting Derek in the arm. “Not everyone is used to your complete lack of modesty.

Taking the offered shirt, Stiles mutters the words again. With Derek’s shirt in one hand, and Scott’s in the other the magic begins to swell.

“This is so weird,” he says once the spell activates. “It feels… I can’t even explain it. Derek, walk towards the front door.” His eyes are closed in concentration, but he can feel it in the connection as Derek moves away from him.

Stiles opens his eyes. “I think this could work.”

“You do?” Kira’s eyes shine with unconcealed hope.

Stiles nods and puts down the items he’s holding, so he can scrub his hands against his face. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to hold it,” he confesses. “But if you move quick enough, and just keep moving in his general direction I’m hoping you can reach Scott before my magic gives out.”

Chris nods and moves to gather up his gear. “Let’s go then.”

They organise themselves into two cars—there are too many to all fit into Chris’ SUV. Derek tosses Boyd the keys to his Toyota, then he and John go with Chris.

As the engines fade into the distance, Melissa joins Stiles on the couch.

“I hate this.” Stiles stares at his phone unlocking it to find Derek’s number. “I should have gone with them.”

He hits the green phone icon and waits for the call to connect.


	3. Chapter 3

Between holding the two tracking spells and the conversation playing out through the speaker of his phone, Stiles is struggling.

There are too many things trying to hold his attention, something he struggles with on a regular day let alone right now when his head is pounding, and his magic is faltering. The magic is tiring him out. Stiles can feel it each time he lets the spell go, the bone-weary ache of overreaching with his power.

 _“We're just coming up the corner of Chisholm and Aspin street,”_ Derek’s voice echoes down the line. _“Do you think you can try the spell again?”_

Stiles picks up both shirts once more, scrunching his eyes shut in an effort to concentrate. The sound of his own breathing is so loud in his ears. He forces himself to breath slower, shallower to push the sound back.

He manages to lock on to Derek, but his connection to Scott just keeps slipping from his grip. He lets the magic go and focuses on finding Scott first.

Melissa shifts beside him, the coarse fabric of her denim jeans scraping against the cushions, and he’s lost it again.

_“Stiles?”_

“Yeah, one second.” Stiles lets out a long, wheezy sigh.

Beside him, Melissa watches, her expression full of concern.

“I’m having trouble focusing. I need somewhere quiet.” Stiles gathers up his focus items and phone and goes up to his old bedroom. It still looks exactly the same despite it being a year since he last lived in it.

The walk up the stairs has left him breathless. He takes a moment before asking Derek if he’s still on the line.

_“I’m here.”_

Stiles sits on his bed, crossing his legs, then places the phone down beside him on the quilt. He picks up his items and concentrates on the spell once more.

In the quiet sanctuary of his room, Stiles can feel it now—his connection to both Derek and Scott.

“You’re getting closer,” Stiles tells Derek. “I think you’re almost there.” He keeps the connection open, afraid the pack might overshoot Scott’s location.

_“What the-“_

In the background of the call, John’s muffled voice rings out.

“What’s going on?”

Though the phone Stiles hears the squeal of breaks and the muted fumbling of the phone being dropped.

“Derek?” Nothing. “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

_“We’re all fine.”_

Stiles lets go of the breath he’d been holding, relief flowing though him. “What happened?”

_“I’m not sure.”_

Stiles can hear Derek moving about and a car door opening.

 _“Stiles,”_ Derek’s voice is low. There’s a slight lisp to the consonants he gets when his fangs have dropped. _“I’ve got to hang up the phone.”_

Other sounds are beginning to filter in across the line— car doors slamming, loud voices, a growl— 

“What? Why? Derek-“

_“Stay there.”_

“What’s going on?”

_“Promise me Stiles. Stay where you are. I’ll call you when it’s over.”_

“Derek, don’t-”

There’s another growl and the distinct sound of the phone being dropped. Stiles sits up, half kneeling over his phone as gunshots ring out, loud crackles from the tinny phone speakers.

There’s a scream and a snarl. Stiles can’t tell if it’s Erica or Kira, but it sets his teeth on edge.

Finally, after what seems like hours of torturous waiting, the line goes silent. Stiles waits for Derek to pick up the cell and tell Stiles he’s fine, but thirty seconds becomes a minute, then two and Stiles is still waiting.

“Derek?” Stiles checks the screen, confirming the call is still connected, there just isn’t anyone on the other end. “Dad? C’mon answer me god dammit!” His heart is racing, pounding so fast Stiles feels it might beat right out of his chest. _“Fuck.”_

His hands are shaking when he picks up the phone. He disconnects the call, then tries ringing again, just in case they lost the phone in the fight. The loud ringtone would help them locate it.

The call rings and rings and rings and goes through to voicemail.

Stiles flops back onto his butt, cradling his head in his hands. The druid has his entire pack.

“It was a trap.”

Stiles is so unequipped to handle this. He scrolls through his phone for Lydia’s number.

The call goes straight through to voicemail and he remembers she’s on a plane heading back to Beacon Hills. Stiles is on his own.

Downstairs, he can hear Melissa moving around in the kitchen. He carefully weighs up his options.

Stiles is the only one who can find the pack, but there’s no way Melissa is going to let him out of the house— he’d been in hospital less than two hours ago. There has to be another way.

Stiles looks around his old bedroom. There’s a spare key to his dad’s car in his desk drawer. He’s had it for years in case of emergencies while the Jeep was in the shop. Derek and John had left the house with Chris in his SUV, which means his dad’s car is still sitting in the driveway.

Stiles digs through the drawers to find the keys, then heads to his wardrobe. Inside is an old backpack and a baseball bat. He’s not sure how useful the bat’s going to be but decides to take it anyway.

His cell phone goes into the backpack along with the Scott and Derek’s t-shirts. The bat goes in last and Stiles zips up the bag around the baseball bat to stop it from shifting. With his hands now free Stiles grabs the keys and goes to the window.

Over the last twenty-two years Stiles has climbed in and out of his bedroom window more times that he can count— this is by far the most difficult trip down the side of the house he’s ever made. By the time he reaches the grass his chest is burning. He doubles over with one hand steadying himself against the house, trying to get his short wheezy breaths back under control.

Straightening, Stiles strains to hold back the cough that’s trying to burst from his chest as he creeps around the side of the house towards the driveway.

Careful not to make any noise, Stiles eases the car door open and drops into the seat. He starts the engine, quickly backing out of the driveway, then taking off down the street.

On the off-chance Melissa has followed him, Stiles makes a couple of random turns down empty streets. Once he’s sure he’s in the clear, he pulls over.

Stiles rubs his hand against his sternum as through that might ease the burning in his chest. His lungs feel heavy and full, like there’s no room for any of the air he wants to draw in. He coughs, hard, trying to clear the gunk, then reaches for the backpack he’d slung across onto the passenger seat.

After pulling out the bat, Stiles rummages around for Derek’s shirt. He draws on the magic inside himself and locks on to Derek’s location. He can feel the tug, deep down where his connection to the pack is strong.

Stiles lays the shirt across his legs and shifts the gear stick into first. Time to go save his pack.

*

It doesn’t take Stiles long to guess where he’s heading. He’d had an inkling— tracing Derek’s journey on the map each time he got an update. He lets go of the magic to save his strength and drives; foot pressed down hard on the accelerator.

Stiles finds the cars on the next street. They’re both parked neatly by the curb.

Pulling up behind Chris’ SUV, Stiles gazes out the windshield checking for signs of foul play. He leaves the engine running and walks across to the SUV. The sun has just dipped down below the horizon and moonrise is less than thirty minutes away. He has precious little time to waste but the large black car might have weapons.

Stiles tries one of the doors. It’s locked, but it only takes a few swings of the baseball bat to get in. There’s a metal box in the trunk Stiles knows contains all manner of offensive weapons. The box is locked though, and no amount of swinging is going to get it open.

Quickly deciding it’s not worth the effort, Stiles gives up. He’s wasting too much time.

He backs away, turning to walk back to his car when he spots it.

Derek’s phone lies on the bitumen behind one of the wheels. Stiles picks it up, tucking it into his pocket before climbing back behind the steering wheel of his dad’s car.

It takes him fifteen minutes to drive to the preserve.

Stiles pulls over just before the turn off onto the dirt track. He can’t go any further in the car. Not only will it give away his approach, but Stiles won’t be able to check for any wards the druid might have set up.

Grabbing his bat, Stiles leaves everything else in the car and strikes out on foot through the trees. He’s got less ten minutes until moon rise.

As he stomps through the thick leaf litter, anger boils within him. The Hale house is supposed to be off limits.

Stiles had put up wards around the old property, nothing fancy, it was mostly just to prevent drunk teenagers from trespassing. He hadn’t needed to bother with anything stronger. In the four years since high school, Beacon Hills had mostly been quiet, and Stiles had begun to let his guard down.

Breath rattling in his chest, Stiles heads for the house, his feet crunching through the dead leaves. He keeps to the shadows, finding a trunk to lean against just inside the treeline and catch his breath.

The house is a looming silhouette against the deepening twilight. There’s just one source of light shining from the building— a flickering in one of the downstairs windows, casting dancing shadows on the wall just beyond.

Closing his eyes, Stiles focuses on the house, letting his magic fill his awareness. He searches for traps, anything that might give away his approach. He recognises the druid’s magical signature from the day before. He can feel it, like a wall around his pack, but… that’s it.

Stiles can’t feel any wards on the house other than his own. They’re shadows, almost non-existent, but they’re there and the druid had blasted right through them.

He pushes away from the tree, creeping around the house. There is a large swathe of grass leading up to the ruins of the wide porch but if Stiles skirts around the back, he can get in through what was once the kitchen without being seen from the living room.

Stiles had set up the wards a long time ago, fresh with the knowledge that magic was something that he could do. He’d gone to Deaton— the veterinarian having been the one to tell him in the first place, albeit in his usual confounding way.

He didn’t have the overall attention span for the consistent study and practice needed to grow his power. He didn’t particularly care, magic typically came with too many rules and caveats. Stiles was pleased with the small amount he had learned.

He had researched the different symbols and runes that could be used to protect the house, what they meant and how they’d work. He’d spent a week ignoring his schoolwork in favour of deciding what would be best for each house— Derek’s, his dad’s, the whole pack. It had taken another two weeks and a considerable amount of Derek’s money to source the ingredients to mix into a paste.

There’s a rune painted on kitchen wall, towards the centre of the house. All Stiles has to do is get to it, but as he climbs through the broken window and looks towards the hall it just feels so far away.

The kitchen floor is littered with rubbish— bits of broken glass, leaves that have blown in and other debris, and the smallest noise could give him away as Stiles creeps across the room towards the hallway.

Peeking through the doorway, Stiles can see through to the living room. The druid has his back to him, but the rest of the pack can see him. He raises a finger to his lips and inches forwards.

A floorboard creaks.

Stiles locks eyes with the druid.

_“You.”_

Stiles slams his hand onto the wall, right on top of the old ward, channeling every little scrap of magic he has into the hope and the belief that this _will_ work.

There’s a loud crack.

The druid is jerked, as if pulled from his bellybutton, through the wall of the house and out onto the lawn.

The magical barrier around the werewolves crumbles and the pack launch themselves after the druid.

Body trembling, Stiles decides to sit, his legs folding before he fully forms the thought. He leans forward, elbows braced against his knees and just focuses on breathing for a minute. He’ll get up in a second, just as soon as the grey creeping around the edges of his vision fades away.

“You did good, kiddo.” His dad has suddenly appeared, crouching in front of him. His face is drawn with worry.

“’m not a kid,” Stiles wheezes, tipping his head back to look at his dad.

Outside, the sounds of the fight cut off abruptly.

“Sure you’re not.” John ruffles his hair. “So, how do we get out of here?”

“Car’s parked- end of road.” Stiles uses his words sparingly to save his breath. Turning to Chris, he adds, “saw your car too- broke a window- sorry.”

The pack, minus Erica and Boyd re-enter the house.

“He’s dead.” Scott’s face is set like stone. “Chris, we’ll need your help.”

Chris and Kira follow Scott back outside. Stiles watches them go, then grins up at Derek.

“We heard your car coming,” Derek says, coming to stand beside him. “Erica and Boyd have gone to get it.”

“Cool.”

“Need a hand up?”

“I think I live here now,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head. Now that it’s over, and the adrenaline is gone, he’s not sure he can move. His lungs feel like they’re full of wet cement and he’s hot and shivery from the breeze blowing through the ruins of the house.

It’s not long before he can hear the rumble of the car coming up the dirt track outside.

“Come on,” Derek says, hauling Stiles to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

Stiles, John, Chris and Kira pile into John’s old Camry while the rest of the pack head off on foot. They meet back up at the abandoned cars— Chris takes his SUV back to the preserve to deal with the body while the werewolves split up between the two remaining cars.

Melissa is waiting for them on the front steps when they pull up outside the Stilinski house. She bundles Scott up in a hug, glaring at Stiles over his shoulder.

“You are in so much trouble,” she says, shaking a finger at him. “If you were my kid, you’d be grounded for the rest of your life.”

“Hey, no objection from me.” John follows them up the stairs towards the front door.

“Rude.” Stiles croaks. “I only saved everyone.”

“I know.” Melissa throws an arm across his shoulders. “Thank you.” She pulls him in to kiss his forehead but reels back at the heat. “Let’s get you inside kiddo.”

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” Stiles groans. “I am an adult.”

“You’re a baby adult.” Melissa grins and leads them all inside, directing Stiles to sit on the couch. He lets her fuss around him, too tired to complain.

It’s not that late, but it’s been a stressful day, and everyone is keen to get home. Boyd drags Erica off first, shortly followed by Malia. Kira and Scott are the last to leave, heading back to the McCall house for the night.

Still convinced there is something in his house making him sick, Stiles and Derek crash with John. Guiding Stiles upstairs to his childhood bedroom, Derek directs Stiles to sit on the bed while he digs around in the bag he’d packed earlier.

“Do you want a shower?” Derek asks, finding clean clothes of each of them.

Shaking his head, Stiles starts stripping out of his shirt. “Maybe in the morning,” he mumbles around a yawn. Dressed in a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats, Stiles flops back onto the bed.

“Wait a minute.” Derek gestures for Stiles to sit back up. “You need to eat something and take your these.” He rummages back around in the bag for the box of antibiotics.

“No eat, only sleep.” Stiles wraps his arms around the spare pillow on the bed, hugging it to his chest.

“You’ve barely eaten anything all day,” Derek reminds him.

“Ugh, fine.”

No one can really be bothered to cook anything, so Melissa throws together a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches. Stiles sits with them, one elbow on the table with his face propped on his hand. He manages a couple of bites of his sandwich before his exhaustion gets the best of him. Mumbling his ‘goodnight’s’ to everyone he heads back to his room.

He’s asleep by the time Derek follows him upstairs to bed.

He stirs, rolling over when Derek climbs in under the covers beside him. Stiles’ old double bed isn’t as roomy as the king they’ve got at home, but this isn’t the first time they’ve shared it. Throwing his arm over Derek’s waist and snuggling in close, Stiles drifts back to sleep.

*

Derek wakes up early. He carefully extracts himself from Stiles’ sticky grip and takes a shower before heading downstairs for something to eat. His stomach rumbles at the thought— a single grilled cheese sandwich for dinner is nothing with a werewolf’s metabolism.

John is already standing at the kitchen bench with a cup of coffee in hand when Derek walks in.

“You sleep well son?”

Nodding, Derek helps himself to the pot of fresh brewed coffee John passes over. His stomach lets out another loud growl.

“Hungry?” John chuckles. He opens the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. “I’ll let you have some if you promise not to tell Stiles.” He puts Derek to work toasting bread while the frying pan heats.

“Did Melissa stay the night?” Derek asks innocently, pouring himself another coffee. “I thought I heard her leave this morning.”

John fumbles with the spatula.

“She uh, wanted to grab a few things from home.” Looking up, John’s eyes narrow. “How long have you known?”

Shrugging, Derek takes another sip of his coffee. “A while.” His lips tick up at the sides against his mug. “Stiles is going to be insufferable when he finds out.”

“Which is exactly why we haven’t told him.” John divides bacon and eggs between the two plates. “He was never particularly subtle in his attempts to get me and Mel together.”

“He’s never been particularly subtle about anything,” Derek jokes taking his plate. “I’m not sure it’s something he’s capable of.”

While they’re eating, Stiles’ backpack, still sitting by the couch buzzes. Frowning, Derek goes to investigate.

In the bag, hidden beneath amongst the t-shirts, he finds their cell phones. His is flat, but Stiles’ phone still has some power. Derek swipes through the message notifications.

**_Queen Lyds (21:58PM):_ ** _Just landed. Call me._

**_Queen Lyds (22:01PM):_ ** _**Missed call**_

**_Queen Lyds (22:02PM):_ ** _I’ll be back in BH in half an hour. You better not be dead!_

**_Queen Lyds (22:04PM):_ ** _Answer your phone Stiles._

Plugging in his own phone by the kitchen bench, Derek waits for it to power on.

“Everything okay?” John asks, carrying their plates across to the sink.

“We, uh, forgot to let Lydia know everything was okay.” Derek’s phone starts buzzing with notifications.

“She dropped in last night, after you two had gone to bed.”

“She did?” Derek thumbs through the messages.

**_Lydia (21:58PM): Missed call_ **

**_Lydia (21:02PM):_ ** _One of you better answer your phone!_

**_Lydia (21:02PM):_ ** _I’ll be back in half an hour._

**_Lydia (21:41PM):_ ** _Spoke to John, I’ll call you in the morning._

**_Lydia (07:49AM): Missed call_ **

Derek taps the last notification to return the call.

_“Oh good, you’re not dead.”_

“I should have called-“

_“Yes, you should have! I drove the whole way back thinking you were dead!”_

“I’m sorry.”

Across the kitchen John is smirking.

“ _Good, because I’ll be over in twenty minutes.”_

“Uh, okay. Why?”

 _“To help you find and destroy the hex bag making your boyfriend sick. Or do you want to live with John and Melissa for the rest of your life? Twenty minutes, you better be ready to go.”_ She disconnects the call.

John’s smirk drops. “Wait, Lydia knows?”

*

True to her word, Lydia is walking in through the front door twenty minutes later. She gives Derek a lift back to his house so they can search for the hex bag together.

“Was there anywhere he’d suddenly get worse?” Lydia asks, standing in the middle of the living room.

“He’s mostly just been in our room or on the couch,” Derek responds. He follows Lydia through into the bedroom—the sheets on the bed are still rumpled from the previous day. Derek pulls them free from the mattress, tossing everything into a pile in the hallway.

They take their time, searching the room carefully, opening every box and drawer until Derek is confident they have checked the entire room. Nothing turns up though, so they move on.

Derek finally finds it, after tipping the couch up to look underneath.

“This is what’s making Stiles sick?” He asks, almost sceptically. The small fabric pouch fits in the palm of his hand, no bigger than a tennis ball.

“It doesn’t need to be big,” Lydia tells him. “It’s all about the intent.”

They take it out into the backyard and burn the bag until there is nothing left except for a few scattered ashes. Derek isn’t ready to call it there, so they keep searching, just in case there is a second, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

After tidying up the house, Lydia and Derek head back to the Stilinski house. Melissa is there when they return, sitting on the couch eating lunch in front of the TV.

“You’re back.” She puts her plate down on the coffee table. “How’d you go. Did you find it?”

“Yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem now,” Derek says looking towards the stairs. “How’s Stiles?”

“He was asleep when I popped my head in a few minutes ago.”

Nodding, Derek goes upstairs to see for himself.

Stiles is on his back with one arm flung over his eyes— one of his go to sleeping positions. His face is stull flushed with fever, his breaths soft and wheezy.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Derek keeps his face neutral. He’d known destroying the hex bag wasn’t going to magically make Stiles better, but he’d still been hopeful.

Stiles wakes to the sensation of fingers combing through his hair. He shifts, turning his face to the comforting presence beside him.

“Hey.” He rasps, blinking up and Derek. “Where’d you go?”

“Lydia and I found the hex bag. We destroyed it.”

“So, we can go home?” Stiles asks, sitting up.

“Yeah, we can go home.”

*

Stiles’ fever breaks a couple of days later.

He rolls over in bed, blinking at the lamp on the nightstand. With a start, he realises he’s not in his bedroom at his dad’s house anymore and for one heart stopping moment he doesn’t know where he is.

But then he recognises the lamp as his and slowly the memories of driving home with Derek filter back through. They’d come home yesterday… or the day before. Stiles isn’t sure. The whole week has blurred into one long amorphous blob— he‘s not even sure what day it is anymore.

Rolling onto his back, Stiles takes stock. He still feels pretty crappy – his lungs are still heavy and congested, but the fog has lifted from his brain and the shivering and sweating have stopped. He also _really_ needs to pee.

Stiles pushes back the covers, and stands, raking a hand through his greasy hair before trudging down towards the bathroom to relieve himself.

After washing his hands, he wanders back down the hall, bypassing the bedroom, heading for the living room instead.

“Look who’s finally up.” Derek puts down the invoice he’d been paying for the garage as Stiles drapes himself across the werewolf’s back. “And no longer a human super nova.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Stiles says, hooking his chin over the Derek’s shoulder.

“You think I’m funny too.” Shuffling the chair back from the table, Derek creates enough space for Stiles to sit in his lap. “You feeling better?”

“Mm-hmm.” Stiles takes the invitation, dropping down to sit across Derek’s thighs. He sits silent, one foot tapping against the table leg, for a minute. “The druid,” he asks suddenly. “He’s gone right? I didn’t dream that?”

“Yeah. He’s gone.”

“Good.” Stiles leans sideways against Derek’s chest, his head resting of the werewolf’s shoulder.

“You need a shower,” Derek says, getting a whiff of Stiles’ hair.

“But I just got comfortable,” Stiles whines, pressing in closer to his boyfriend.

“You stink,” Derek tells him, but still wraps his arm around Stiles’ waist.

The younger man glares up at him. “That’s so mean.”

“It’s the truth.”

Stiles grumbles something unintelligible into his shoulder.

“Come on, the steam will help.” Derek pushes Stiles off his lap so he can stand.

“You have to come too then.” Stiles pulls Derek along. “Gotta make sure I don’t keel over or something.” He starts tugging on Derek’s shirt, catching the soft fabric in his hands and trying to pull it up over Derek’s head.

“Have you already forgotten what happened last time we tried to shower together?” Derek asks, pulling the hem of his shirt from Stiles’ grip.

“Uh, yeah.” Stiles gives up on the t-shirt and starts fumbling with the button Derek’s jeans. “I remember we had a very good time.”

“Until you fell over.” Grasping Stiles’ hands and pulling them away, Derek steers Stiles towards the bathroom.

Stiles snorts. “You mean, until you dropped me.” The laugh catches in his throat and he coughs, doubling over to choke on the mucus that’s built up in his lungs over the last week. Derek gently guides him over to sit on the closed toilet lid, while Stiles works on catching his breath. 

“Oh fuck.” He sits, leaning forward with his elbows braced against his knees and waits for the room to stop spinning. “Maybe we hold off on the fun times for a few more days.”

“Probably for the best,” Derek agrees, moving to drop the plug into the bath and get the water running.

“You could still join me,” Stiles says, patting the edge of the bath. He strips off his shirt and sweatpants, before lowering himself in the hot water.

Derek doesn’t take much convincing— they’ve earned a little relaxation time after the last week. He reaches for the button on his jeans, undressing quickly and climbing into the tub. Stiles is a warm, limp weight against his chest, and in that moment it’s almost easy to forget how bad things got. In that moment everything is alright in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there it is. I hope you enjoyed it. Please kudos or comment if you did! I love reading comments!

**Author's Note:**

> This is complete! I will post the next chapter tomorrow, last chapter up Sunday.
> 
> Come visit me on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/level_8_pigeon)


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